The Scar
by Severina310
Summary: After a heated encounter between them, Catwoman sees a small scar on Batman's hand. Months later, Selena Kyle notices a small scar on Bruce Wayne's hand...


Disclaimer - I don't own these characters. Please don't sue me, all I have it student loan debt. :(

Quick note - This probably doesn't fit in the canon. The only thing that might fit into the DCAU is the mention of Selena working on a big cat charity. Other than that, this is PWP.

Be warned - HERE BE SMUT.

If you are under 18, just no. Nope. Don't do it. Don't read it.

**The Scar**

The scar was his undoing. Sitting on the back of his hand at the base of his thumb, the thin white jagged line was an inch long and no wider than a few strands of hair. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Two months ago she wouldn't have noticed it, either.

They had been sleeping together for about six months at the time; sleeping, of course, a relative term. Quickies on rooftops, in abandoned buildings, and on the darkened fire escapes of deserted office buildings punctuated their complicated relationship of cat and mouse. Or cat and bat. He always took her from behind. It was easier for both of them in case they needed to get dressed in a hurry. Spreading her legs as far as she could with the restrictions of her catsuit pooled around her knees, his gloved hands gripped her hips while he slammed into her. Some nights his Kevlar armor rubbed the backs of her thighs raw. It was hot and passionate and exactly what they both needed.

Then there was that night.

The beginnings of fall had crept in, a welcome relief from the stifling heat and humidity of Gotham in August. The brightness of the full moon rivaled the street lights. He followed her to the top of the Gotham Bridge, a old structure paying homage to Gothic architecture and the marvels of turn of the century masonry.

"Looks like we're alone again," she purred, sauntering up to him and placing her hand on his broad chest. "Whatever will we do?"

"I may have an idea," he said as he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

The seclusion afforded them 800 feet from the water, with no cameras around and no chance of anyone coming across them, was a freedom they'd never experienced. For the first time they were together face to face. She rode him in the moonlight while he watched her writhe atop him. He was as covered as he'd been in their previous encounters, but she had taken the opportunity to free herself of all clothing. She wanted him to see her.

She glowed under the silver white moon, sweat glittering off her skin as the night air cooled her burning body. He ran his gloved hands over her.

"No, not the gloves," she gasped, clenching her internal muscles around him. "I want your hands on me." He shocked her when he compiled with her request. The feel of his bare hands on her skin made her lightheaded. And when he reached down to where their bodies joined and ran his thumb over her most sensitive area, her world ended in a series of brilliant blue waves.

After her muscles had stopped contracting around him and after he had stopped pulsating within her, they shared one shaky kiss before she disengaged from his body and rolled onto her left side with her back to him. She couldn't let him know how much this session had affected her. She wanted to wrap herself around him and lie in his arms until dawn cracked the horizon. But that's not how this worked between them.

_You have two minutes to collect yourself and then you better be up and gone_, she told herself. Inhaling slowly, she tried to calm her shaking limbs. Suddenly, his right arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her into the spoon of his body. It had gotten to him, too.

With her nudity flush against his Kevlar-covered form, he placed a soft kiss on her shoulder. She pulled his hand to her lips and placed a kiss there. She ran her fingers over his flesh as she stared at a small scar on the back of his hand. It was so clear in the moonlight.

"I should go," he murmured into her hair. He didn't move.

"Yeah," she said. They lay together for a few more precious moments before getting up to go their separate ways.

Since that night she had found herself looking at the hands of men she encountered in her daily life. The cashier behind the counter at her favorite coffee shop on 18th, the business man on the subway impatiently scrolling through his blackberry, the police officer drinking coffee while chatting with the newsstand owner. She was being ridiculous. She wouldn't be able to find him that way. Part of her didn't want to find him at all. Did she really want to know who was under that mask?

She had forced herself to stop thinking about it until the day she watched Bruce Wayne pick up a pen to sign the slip for their lunch. A scar. One roughly the same size and shape as his scar. In the same place. The world slowed around her. His hand moved excruciatingly slowly across the paper. Sound dropped out of the world as she stared at him. She no longer heard anything he said, though his lips moved and she knew he was carrying on as if the world hadn't just flipped upside down.

She wanted to be angry with him. She wanted to ask him why he'd never said anything about who he was while he was fucking her on those rooftops and fire escapes. But she knew the first time they were together had been her idea. Their entire sexual relationship had been her idea. She offered and he accepted.

_"Shouldn't you know my name first?" he'd asked before they were together for the first time. "I know yours."_

_"Like you'd tell me," she answered between kisses. He smirked against her lips. She was right, he wasn't about to tell her. "This will be like ducking into a closet at a costume party with a mysterious stranger. No names, no faces, just sex."_

She studied Bruce as he slipped his debit card back into his wallet. Nice, affable, somewhat dopey Bruce Wayne? He's the World's Greatest Detective and the most dangerous weapon in Gotham City's war on crime? The guy who never met a party or a beautiful woman he didn't like?

But then again, it made sense. Batman has an impressive array of gadgets and toys. The technology he uses is cutting edge. His car is custom made. The bill for all of it had to run into the millions. Who else had the means?

Could this really be him? The scar certainly looked identical. It was 2pm on a Thursday afternoon and she had just eaten a late business lunch consisting of risotto and tiger prawns while discussing her big cat charity with...Batman? It was surreal.

"Hey, Earth to Selena!" Bruce's voice brought her back to the present. She had completely zoned out. "Am I that boring?" She met his eyes and he smiled broadly.

"I'm sorry, Bruce, I guess I just have a lot on my mind." _That's an understatement, _she thought.

"Would you like me to take you home?" His voice was so smooth, so light. She never noticed how perfect he sounded before, how practiced. The realization hit her so hard she had to grit her teeth to keep her jaw from dropping. _That's not his real voice. _Her mind reeled. She was so stunned she didn't remember any of the conversation she had somehow carried on with him the entire way back to her apartment.

"I'll have my assistant reach out to set up the fundraising discussion with some of my contacts," he said as he pulled up in front of her building. She just stared at him. "Selena? Are you ok?" She stared for a second more, her mind playing tug of war with her emotions.

"Do you want to come up for a minute?" Something flashed behind his eyes so quickly that she was certain if she hadn't been looking for it she would have missed it entirely. Just like the scar.

Her cats couldn't be bothered to greet them as they entered. Typical. She threw the deadbolt into place behind them and leaned against the door. She knew he could go out the window but he wouldn't, not in the middle of broad daylight while decked out in an Armani suit.

"Are you sure you're ok? Do you need me to call someone for you?" She laughed softly at his words. He was unbelievably committed to his role. She grabbed his right hand and ran her thumb over the faint scar.

"I know someone with this exact same scar," she whispered as she looked deeply into his eyes. "The last time I saw it...I was lying in his arms...atop the Gotham City bridge." She dropped her gaze to his hand. He started to pull his hand away but she gripped him tighter.

"Selena-" he began in Bruce Wayne's voice.

"No. Don't lie to me. Not any more." He looked at her so intently she had to drop her gaze.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked in his real voice. She looked at him again. Bruce Wayne was gone. Batman was nowhere to be found. This was just Bruce, the weird amalgamation that existed between the two. This was the man he really was. This is the man who wrapped his arm around her when they were on the bridge. This was the man who wanted to feel his lover's skin against his own.

"I don't know. There isn't a precedent for this." They stared at each other awkwardly. She stepped forward and covered his eyes and nose with her hand. That jaw. Those lips. How could she not have seen it? Her hand slid to his cheek and she cradled his face in her hand.

"I should go," he said quietly. He stepped away from the her and reached for the deadbolt.

"Don't go. Please." She shuddered inwardly at the sound of her weak voice. All her finely cultivated weapons of sexuality and innuendo left her; in that moment she was nothing more than Selena Kyle. He took his hand from the door and placed it on the back of her neck. Wordlessly, he pulled her face to his for a kiss. He parted her lips with his insistent tongue and she sagged in his arms, the passion and power of his kiss penetrating her to her bones. How she hated him at that moment, hated his ability to turn her into a quivering mess in his arms. But she loved it at the same time. Craved it. Needed it.

He tasted of restaurant peppermints. He was the clean scent of soap and expensive aftershave and something else uniquely him. Something masculine, something _powerful_. Her arms encircled his neck and for the first time she ran her fingers through his thick black hair. Her lips left his and she captured his earlobe between her teeth, nipping lightly. As she released his lobe she let out one low, soft, purposeful moan. He inhaled and his hands found her hips, pulling her flush with his body as she smirked. He wasn't the only one who could illicit a response.

"You like that, handsome?" she teased, nibbling at his neck and grinding her hips into his. He responded by pressing her against the door with his weight and kissing down her neck. His hard, thick arousal pressed urgently against her core and heat shot through her. She loosened his tie, shoved his jacket from his shoulders, and slowly began unbuttoning his shirt. No kevlar would come between them today.

Opening his starched shirt to lay a kiss on his collarbone, she slid her hands over his chest. Discovering his skin, tracing his scars, allowing her fingers to dance over the outlines of his muscular chest - there was something about doing this with him that made her feel like an inexperienced young woman exploring the body of her first lover. She was intoxicated by him. She always had been.

He pulled her shirt from her body and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. His hands ran along her curves, hot fingers adding to the tension in her body. He tested the weight of her breasts through her lacy bra, and she thanked her women's intuition that she had the foresight to wear one of her pretty ones. He gently pushed her strap off her shoulder and laid a soft kiss on her skin. Pulling his head back, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"The bedroom," he whispered, kissing her lips.

"Not going to take me from behind today?" she teased. His eyes raked over her body before settling back on hers. He smirked.

"Maybe later." She took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

When they arrived in her room she suddenly felt shy. She had been with him dozens of times yet having him in her bed seemed more reckless than letting him take her on a fire escape. It was more intimate. He caressed her shoulders as he stood behind her, his broad, bare chest inches from her back. She could feel him there and her nerves tingled. He kissed the back of her neck and she moaned, her head lolling forward.

"You're nervous," he said, kissing her neck again. His hands found her breasts.

"You always make me nervous," she muttered in a rare moment of honesty. He continued his torture on the back of her neck, her breathing more erratic, her knees growing weaker. He unhooked her bra and it fell to the floor, her breasts bare in his hands.

"Is that all I do to you?" His voice was low and it reverberated through her body. She shuttered as the heat in her belly continued to build. She felt the zipper of her skirt open and it floated to the floor, pooling at her feet. She stepped out of her skirt and her shoes before turning to face him.

His eyes burned as he took her in, bare except for her thin panties. He brushed his thumb over one of her hard nipples before leaning down to take it in his mouth.

"Let's get you out of these first," she said, her hands undoing his belt. He toed off his shoes and stepped out of his trousers. She made sure he watched her as her gaze dropped to the bulge straining against the fabric of his jockey shorts. She smiled and bit the corner of her lower lip. "On the bed," she commanded, pushing him gently.

When he was settled, she straddled his hips and ground against his erection. The friction almost made her finish right then. He wrapped his arms around her and claimed a nipple with his mouth, thrusting his hips with just enough pressure to make her moan. She pushed him down on the bed and kissed down his body, kissing each scar tenderly, moving her hot mouth over his burning skin. When she reached the waistband of his shorts she wasted no time in pulling them from his body. He sprang free and she wrapped her hand around him. He sucked air through his teeth as she stroked him.

He was propped up on his elbows and she knew he was watching her every movement. Deciding to give him a show, she made eye contact with him and slowly ran her tongue from his base to his tip. She swirled her tongue around his tip before giving him a wicked smile and taking him in her mouth. He moaned and his head fell back as she bobbed her head up and down. His soft moans drove her on, making her go harder, faster.

Out of necessity, he had always been quiet during most of their previous encounters; the sound of ragged breath, armor slamming against her bare flesh, and the occasional grunt the only noise. Even she had been quiet, usually biting her hand to silence herself, occasionally biting hard enough to draw blood. Now, to hear him moan, to feel him stroke her neck and back gently as she worked, it was more than enough. It was perfect.

Gripping her shoulders, he pulled her back up to his lips, kissing her fiercely as he rolled her under him. He found her nipple with his mouth again and slid a hand into her panties. His fingers found her folds and met her wetness. Dipping two fingers inside, he moved his head south. Her panties were gone and her whole body quivered as his intentions became crystal clear. Thrusting his fingers inside her, his tongue found her sensitive nub and flicked.

Moans, sighs, groans, the first syllables of words, they were all wrenched from her as he continued his ministrations. She bucked against his hands and face, her hands buried in that thick black hair. Never had she felt so out of control, so unburdened, so wild. Nothing mattered - Catwoman, Batman, Gotham, they were all distant memories as he lapped at her juices. It was too good, too deliciously good.

"Bruce..." she gasped. Her lower body was on fire. She needed him, she needed to be filled by him, she needed to take him into her body before she lost her mind. He came up her body and kissed her. The taste of her on his lips, on his tongue. He was positioned at her entrance, his tip teasing her. He joined them with a quick thrust and she breathed his name again.

"Mmmm...say my name again," he whispered in her ear as his thrusts grew stronger, deeper.

"Bruce..." she whispered before taking claiming his mouth. He was deep within her now, deeper than he'd ever been, his body rubbing her clit with each thrust. She wrapped her legs around him and gripped his powerful shoulders, hanging on for what she felt building deep inside her. "Don't stop," she gasped as she sighted her climax on the horizon. The waves came and she surrendered, her nails biting into his back, his name mixed with her moans and gasps. She clung to him like a woman drowning, his beautiful body and steady thrusts the only link to the mortal realm.

"God, Selena," he moaned as his own orgasm overtook him. He shuddered as he emptied into her and she became his anchor to the real world. She kissed him softly as he finished. Looking into her eyes, he gave her a small smile before kissing her again. He pulled out, rolled onto his back, and pulled him to her, his grip light yet protective. Her head on his chest as she listened to his strong heartbeat return to normal. She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed his scar.

She loved this man. God help her, she loved him. Pushing those thoughts from her mind she focused on being with him, having him in her bed, feeling his fingers gently sliding through her hair. Whatever this meant, even if it meant nothing at all, she was determined to imprint every precious second into her memory.

As the sun continued its march toward evening, they lay wrapped in each other's arms, lightly dozing. Gotham lingered outside the window and they ignored her for now. She would call soon, but for now, they were together. And somewhere, deep in both their hearts, that mattered.


End file.
